My Very First
by J0j2
Summary: Every empire begins with a single subject. Clint is his very first pet and Loki can't wait to play with the delicacies of human will as he traps Hawkeye before sending him out to take down the Avengers. Minor slash, Loki/Clint. In progress.
1. Chapter 1

"You have soul." He breathed as the scepter touched Hawkeye's flesh. Loki's whisper delivered chills up his spine and he froze as something else tensed his muscles, commanding he stay still. "You will do quite nicely." He heard – but the words came not from Loki's mouth. They resonated in the world around him, inside him as he felt himself moving without control.

Fear strangled Clint Barton as he stepped forward, his vision becoming sharper, his neck becoming stiffer. He commanded himself to step away or to kick or punch or hurt this…being before him. But his body betrayed him. And that damn creature that dared to call himself a god, Loki's voice narrated the process in calm, oozing words.

"Isn't this better?" he heard Loki without being able to see him, although Clint knew he was sitting behind him as they drove madly through the streets, going to god-knows-where.

_Get out of my mind! _He screamed mentally. But the words wouldn't go through. He didn't know if Loki could hear him or not, and the lack of response was infuriating. There was silence for a long time, aside from the screeching of the tires and Clint felt his hands gripping the steering wheel, flooring the car without his permission or desire. Suddenly, he felt Loki's presence growing in the space that he was trapped in, like he was inhabiting the borders of his head and closing in the way a serpent does. In a second, he could no longer see or hear any of what his mutinous body was doing under Loki's control. It was just blackness. And it was terrifying.


	2. Chapter 2

When the ability to see and hear and to feel (but not to touch – he would not be reserved that responsibility for a long while) was so mercifully given back to Clint, much like a god gives his kingdom light and love, he found himself staring into a dimly lit room. Loki loomed before him, he could make out his pale, greenish features and freezing eyes. He was smiling. "Isn't this better?"

"Yes, my lord." Clint felt his lips say without his permission.

There is something utterly petrifying about having no control over the words coming from your mouth. Utterly petrifying to be controlled by another being who uses your body – a temple only your own – the way a puppeteer would. Clint felt a hand on his back. It was cold and bony and wandered under his shirt. It was now that he noticed there was a bed beneath them, or at least something soft and elevated.

"You are my very first." Loki said aloud, and Clint was looking at him, as the trickster beamed. The hand that rested on the base of his spine withdrew and instead lifted, gracefully and coldly cupping his cheek. Maddeningly, Clint felt himself lean into the touch. "I do so love humans." Loki smiled and his eyes sweetened in a sickly sweet way. "So soft, so…easy. And humorous too. You lot think yourselves so special, important, so complex." Loki cooed, putting out his lower lip as he talked down to Clint like he was a small child. "But in the end, you are so simple."

Thoughts of hate and objection arose in Clint's mind and he wanted to scream out but found once again he could not. "I can hear you, my pet." Loki's hand moved behind Clint's head and gently smoothed back his hair. "I know you don't believe me when I tell you that humans were made to be ruled." Loki let the words sit and felt Clint mentally babbling in anger.

"Shhh." He spoke tenderly, hand caressing the back of Clint's neck. "I'll prove it to you." He paused for a long while, fingers idly stroking the Hawk's soft hair. He loved the way Clint (the real one clawing inside the shell he had created) bristled with rebellion. Loki adored the helplessness of it all. Then he dropped it as Clint's mind settled in anticipation of reason.

"You hang on every word I say." Loki whispered and felt the moment of silence that followed, as Clint had no response. The statement was gloriously true. But the struggle resumed and Clint loudly protested. Loki smiled. "It's alright, my pet. I'm flattered by your desire to impress, but I will let no such display happen. Your lord loves you for what you are. Fragile, delicate and weak."

_I am not weak…_Clint was estranged and furious, needing to continue to fight with the only medium he had – his thoughts.

Loki merely grinned at his remark. "Much like a child. The way you cannot accept fact and whine." He withdrew his hand from behind Clint's head. "Alas, all children need guiding."

He stared at Clint with icy, acidic green eyes and Clint felt himself slide down to the floor, kneeling. His hands went up to Loki's knees and he looked up at the trickster. His eyes felt wanting and imploring on his face when he did not want them to be. He wanted his eyes to be hard, to be furious. But instead, his body was resigned in supplication and neediness before Loki and he felt vulnerable and exposed.

_ I am not weak…_Clint continued his monologue as he tried to distract himself from seeing through the bars of this cage that's eyes would not shut with his will. Loki heard him clearly. "Oh my pet, how very weak you are. But do not fret – all midgaurdians are so very feeble. So soft." Loki stroked Clint's cheek with the back of two fingers. "Only on earth could one be so heavy and broad and still be so breakable." He looked at Clint's arms and chest and physicality. It was wonderful! How muscular a being could be but mentally succumb to something as minimal as his scepter.

_Is that why you chose me? Because you think I'm ironic? You pathetic –_

Loki's mental constraints compressed down suddenly, making him unable to focus on anything other than what was in front of him. It was like being strangled. The little space of distraction and free thought he had was suffocating, and he found himself incapable of hearing anything but Loki. For an intense moment, Loki became his world and he didn't have the capacity to hate it.

"Humans were made to be ruled, my pet. You know that deep inside your delicate soul. You have the honor of beginning my reign and trust me; I will break you to my will."

If he had control over it, the words would have made Clint's blood run cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki strode around Clint in the dark room slowly, enjoying the way the cape felt as it flourished behind him. He felt like a predator, stalking and hungry for the prey. He loved how it felt to be the one on top. The excitement of something about to happen was electrifying his world. Earth seemed to stand still in anticipation of its new sovereign. Finally, he would be the prince he deserved to be! Finally, he would be adored and glorified the way a _god _should. And it all began here, with this first human. Clinton Barton. He was starting a collection and it would grow very, very quickly.

He did not lie when he'd told Clint that he loved humans. He did, quite dearly. He wanted nothing but the best for them and, well, he knew that _he _was best for them. Loki nearly felt disappointed when Clint had reacted so strongly against his new lifestyle. If anything, Clint should have been flattered to be picked as Loki's favorite.

Clint was perfect for him, Loki knew. He was angry and lonely and therefore isolated. He'd had time to let his own depressed thoughts churn and eat away at him. Clint already felt alone and powerless before Loki so mercifully rescued him. Loneliness is much like a cage and being trapped for him was nothing new. Because of this, Clint had already done most of the groundwork. Loki was glad - it would be so much easier for Clint to adjust and come to love his new way of existing, as the favorite of the Trickster.

Oh yes, Loki rather liked that.

Clint was standing with his arms outstretched in a 'T'. He had been commanded (but really forced) to disrobe from his outer leather vest. He was left in just his under armor, clinging tightly to his chest. He felt Loki's eyes on him and nervousness overcame his conscious mind every time the god went behind him, out of his line of vision, for he couldn't turn his head. The physical strain of his arms being kept up was outstanding and it hurt like nothing else. He had been like this for a long time. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but he couldn't give his arms a rest. Even if it would eliminate all he had to contribute to the saving of the world, he wished his limbs would just fall off.

Suddenly, the force of a million tons on his arms released and his arms dropped down to his sides limply. Relief shot through his entire body. But Loki was at the back of him and two sets of freezing fingers descended on to his exposed shoulders from behind.

"You see, my pet, your state of living is much like the pain you'd felt in your arms." He spoke gently and kindly. One might mistake him for talking sweetly to a child if the words were not to be heard. "You had to hold the burden of your own weight with no one to help you, no one to care for you. It is much the same with all humans, your nations and world. But I've come to relieve you of that responsibility now. To give you the relief you desire." Loki chose the words. "The…_instruction _you desire."

Loki walked around to Clint's front and brought his fingers up and down his arms, barely gracing the skin. "Does that not feel good, my pet? To put down the weight upon your shoulders?" Loki again cupped his cheek. There was nothing more that Clint would have wanted than to bite it off and then beat him down to the floor. He was so skinny, he was sure he could do it in an instant –

"Now don't be so puckish." Loki brought Clint to attention, narrowing Clint's space for free thought and extinguishing the violence in his mind. He sat Clint down on the bed and looked down at him. "Slowly you will learn what a better way it is with me. I want naught but your happiness. Do not worry, my favorite. I will guide you to your happiness." Loki cupped his cheeks with both hands, now. "Then, we show the world how lovely my way is." He took Clint's hand, which was stockier than his own, and aligned their fingers as they splayed. "Let go, my pet. I will catch you. I know you crave to be cared for, Clint."

All thoughts of his froze at the mention of his birth name.

"I've come to care for you and all your brothers and sisters. But for you first, my beloved pet, for you first." His eyes were both sincere and acidic as he withdrew his hand from Clint's. "Let go and let me catch you." Loki whispered, staring deep into Clint, who felt as if his soul had been violated.

"Sleep well, my pet."

The god vanished without another word.

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Hey! This is my first time in this fandom, I hope I'm not butchering it. Your feedback reviews will help me continue. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

There was an enormous relief on Clint's mind that lead him to believe that Loki had fallen asleep. Although the pressure around the sides of his mind hadn't disappeared, the intensity had subsided. It left him gasping and feeling like he was thirsty, albeit knowing water wouldn't quench the sensation. It felt like he had been sucked out of himself, or conversely, something else had been tightly jammed next to him, cramming him into a space too small. Mentally he had to recuperate.

Clint still couldn't physically move. The link that he had taken for granted all his life between his brain and body had been shattered and the disconnect was deeply unsettling. Despite the new half-freedom in his head, he had never before realized what a gift it was to think and move freely.

Upon that last thought, the darkness around his mind settled and put him at ease in a perverse way. He found the thought undulating its way through his head once more. It was truly a gift to move freely, indeed. The reiteration of the thought seemed foreign and odd to him but there were too many other things for him to think about to care.

He was tired, but too anxious to let his mind at rest. If he did…something about the idea of standing off his guard was more terrifying than being assailed by Loki's mental limits. Clint knew that too much time with his own thoughts was unhealthy. That was why he tried to avoid drinking as much as possible, even if the attempts didn't work so well most of the time. By getting drunk, he just shut himself off the rest of the world and left him alone to dwindle away the hours with his own queries and woes as he lay curled up on a couch or sometimes a floor.

It wasn't healthy for him to be alone. He really did try to make an effort with people, he _tried_ to avoid isolation, more in the way that one goes on a diet, hoping for a better existence, rather than actually wanting to be social. But it was difficult. People didn't have the time or desire to befriend him or empathize with him. Besides, all opening up ever got him was maybe a sympathetic glance and pity. Maybe a slap on the shoulder far rougher than what he wanted. God knows that wasn't what he wanted.

Well he didn't want people's pity either. He didn't want the way they looked at him as if he was an outcast. He didn't like the feeling of being unwanted, knowing that just about everyone he knew included him in activities because they felt bad for him. He didn't need them. Hell, he didn't need that goddamn team with their snobby-ass name. 'The Avengers'. Who the hell were they kidding? All they did was make fun of him. And somehow even the ones who had the decency _not_ to constantly ridicule him were even worse. Their silence was the way they admitted the fact that he was simply beyond help. Natasha was probably the only one that even gave a damn about him anyway. She was probably the only one even thinking about him right now, who'd have noticed he wasn't even there. Fuck them. Fuck all of them.

A sudden burst of warm energy settled through him as the hate he harbored for his teammates surfaced further. It was like a reward – pleasant, comforting. He took a moment and savored it, trying to be distracted from the fear and anguish that was stirring up his head. The feeling engulfed him mentally and then physically, as if someone had wrapped a blanket around him or tucked him into bed. His frontier of thought began fading and he drifted off into something very much like a balmy, soothing sleep which was better than any rest he'd gotten in years.

"Sleep well."


End file.
